


Broken Rules

by Squarepeg72



Series: Off the Pages [27]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Forbidden Love, M/M, Morning After, Mutually Unrequited, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squarepeg72/pseuds/Squarepeg72
Summary: Oliver had spent the last few years with Marcus as his biggest enemy across the pitch. How the fuck had he ended up across from him in his bed?
Relationships: Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood
Series: Off the Pages [27]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1074237
Comments: 9
Kudos: 92
Collections: Tropes & Fandoms 2020





	Broken Rules

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Square 17 in Tropes & Fandoms 2020 in Melting Pot FanFiction
> 
> Trope: It's Not you, It's Me
> 
> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/148170750@N07/49791296541/in/dateposted-public/)  
> 
> 
> Playlist: New Rules by Dua Lipa, Rules by 6lack, Scars by I Prevail, Battle Scars by Lupe Fiasco & Guy Sebastian, Battle Born by Five Finger Death Punch, Love Me Anyway by P!nnk & Chris Stapleton

Oliver struggled out from the fog of sleep. Something didn’t feel right. He was naked in his bed in his flat, but something was off. A light snore filled the still air of his bedroom, and Oliver stopped breathing as he looked to the other person in his bed. “Bloody hell..”

* * *

_Oliver watched him limp across the Great Hall and tried not to cringe. Today’s match had been brutal. Marcus had fallen off his broom hard when he was going after the quaffle during the Slytherin/Gryffindor match today. Stubborn boy, never able to give up on anything, even when it hurts him._

_“Oi, Flint.” Oliver raised his hand to get Marcus’ attention. “You alright?” Looked like you hit pretty hard.”_

_“I’m fine,” growled Marcus as he continued towards the Slytherin tables “Why do you always talk to me? Rule number one: Enemies are never meant to ask.”_

_“It’s just a game,” Oliver whispered as he watched Marcus continue to limp across the Great Hall. “Enemies can respect each other across the pitch.”_

* * *

_Oliver lifted the House Cup over his head as he lead Gryffindor team through the halls of Hogwarts. He had finally done it, won the Cup for his house._

_His travels were stopped short by a growl from the shadows. “That was a lucky save, Wood. That trophy should be mine again. It’s only yours because she likes you.”_

_“Flint, we won this fair and square.” Oliver tried to make out Marcus’ form in the shadows. “I have never asked for favors, and I worked bloody hard for this. For once, can ye let me enjoy the time after a game, Flint?”_

_“When you earn it, Wood,” Marcus' voice echoed through the dark and seemed to fade away. “Rule number two: This is never over.”_

_“It is for me,” Oliver whispered to the shadows. “Something bad is coming.”_

* * *

Oliver looked around his bedroom for clues as to how his greatest enemy from the pitch had ended up, naked, in his bed. A stray pair of socks, his briefs, and a single shoe were by the door. “What the hell happened last night?”

Rubbing his aching head, Oliver tried to piece together the images that were flashing through his head. “I have a feeling a lot more than firewhisky happened…”

* * *

_Oliver watched Marcus fly across the pitch as he ran drills with his team. There was something about the way he moved. He would be in so much trouble if he got caught. But he couldn’t help it. He was poetry in motion on a broom. He had both dreams and nightmares about it. It was preseason and open practice. It’s not like Oliver was going to face him on the pitch... He was just the backup keeper. What did it hurt to watch him?_

_Oliver stood in the shade of the stands erected around the pitch. He had been fine until the coach had declared shirts and skins for the last drill. Marcus without a shirt. This should not be happening. He had to get his act together so he could walk to the Floo station the team had set up for fans. He was definitely not walking across that field in the condition he was in right now. He could not feel that way about him. He was the enemy and always had been. He did not have time for this distraction._

* * *

_Dreaming of your enemy could be dangerous. It fucked with your focus and Oliver could not afford that. He had fought his way to the starting Keeper’s position this summer, after a year of watching goals scored that he could have stopped. It had been a year of waking up in a cold sweat, hard and hurting, with his biggest opponent’s name on his lips. “Bloody hell. Get it together, Wood,” he grumbled as he headed for another cold shower. “He isna for you. He is on the opposite side of the pitch and always will be. Marcus is fire, and you canna afford to get burned.”_

_Oliver welcomed the cold water as it ran over his back. “You have a game today. What the bloody hell are you thinkin?” Oliver continued to talk to himself as he reached for the soap. “He plays for Tutshill, and he bled green before that. He is your opponent, your enemy. So what if he is bloody brilliant on the pitch and you could eat off his abs.”_

_Oliver continued to let his hands slide over his body, trying to get clean and focused. He hissed as his hand came in contact with his throbbing cock. “I dinna have time for this.” He groaned as he wrapped his hand around it. “This canna be what I think of when he is on the pitch with me. This has to stop.”_

_Oliver didn’t stop until he slumped against the wall of his shower, spent, his biggest enemy’s name falling from his lips._

* * *

Oliver pulled on a pair of joggers before he continued to follow the trail of clothes that lead from his bedroom to the kitchen of his small flat. “Bloody hell, what did we do last night?”

Three shoes, another pair of socks and a pair of boxer briefs, definitely not his, were scattered down the short hall. “I canna remember. I need to remember…”

* * *

_The hairs on the back of Oliver’s neck stood up as he searched the shadows outside the pub. “I know you are there, Marcus,” he spoke into the dark. “You are always there. I’m tired of fighting your shadow.”_

_Marcus stepped out into the circle of light cast by the streetlamp Oliver was standing under. “It can never happen, Wood. We have been on opposite sides for too long. It doesn’t matter what we want, it is what is meant to be.”_

_“Marcus, wait.” Oliver’s whisper stopped Marcus’ retreat back into the shadows. “It doesna have to be this way. I know you watch. I can feel you at public practices and games.”_

_“Rule number three: There is a difference between watching and touching, Wood.” Marcus’s voice bounced around the alley as he walked away. “One I can do, the other will burn us to the ground.”_

* * *

_Oliver should be flying high. He was Keeper of the Year, and his team was one game away from claiming a championship. But he was sitting in a dark corner of his favorite pub, drowning in firewhisky. Because he had beaten Marcus. He had stopped that last goal as his Seeker had caught the snitch. He was the reason he could not have what he wanted. Marcus was not playing tomorrow because that goal had been the difference between a chance at a trophy and a finished season._

_This actually wasn’t his favorite pub, it was where Marcus came to drink and stare at the wall before he stumbled to the nearest Floo after last call. He scanned the room for a glimpse of dark hair and stormy eyes. He shouldn’t be watching over Marcus. It burned to watch over him. But, Marcus was burning too._

_“Go home, Oliver,” Marcus' voice floated from deeper in the dark. “I’m not worth watching. You are wearing the wrong colors to be here.”_

_“I’ll go home when you do, Marc,” Oliver took another sip of his firewhisky. “How the bloody hell do you think you made it to the Floo last night? When you stop, I will.”_

_“You have a game tomorrow, Oliver,” Marcus’ hand reached out of the dark to touch Oliver’s empty tumbler. “I’ll be fine. Go home…”_

* * *

Oliver swallowed the hangover potion as he waited for the water to heat for tea. “I canna believe he is in my bed. This has to be a dream.”

The trail of discarded clothes left the kitchen and headed for the sitting room. Khakis and jeans, in a pile by the door into the kitchen waiting to tell him how they got there. Rubbing his eyes, Oliver tried to make sense of the memories that were flashing behind his eyelids. “I canna do this. I need to remember...:”

* * *

_Oliver watched his teammates raise another glass and another toast to the end of an amazing season. Drinking from the Cup was next if Oliver could make himself join them. “I canna do this. I need to be home or better yet, finding him so I can sleep.” Oliver muttered into the tumbler that held his third firewhisky since he had stepped into the pub._

_“Wood, Wood, Wood,” the chant of teammates and fans tried to draw him out of his darkness. They had won, and all he could think about was that he was drowning in the dreams that haunted him and he could not talk about. “Wood, get your arse over here. It’s time to drink from the Cup.” The cries of his teammates finally made him move away from the post he was holding up in the corner._

_“Bloody hell, can’t a Keeper brood in peace?” Oliver grabbed the Cup from his Seeker and took a large swallow. “I canna believe I just did that. Who put swill in this cup? I need more firewhisky.”_

_“Raise a glass to Puddlemere…” Oliver’s voice died amid the cheers that filled the pub. Standing in the doorway was his dream and his nightmare. “Marc…”_

* * *

_“We can’t do this, Oliver.” Marcus ran a finger down the side of Oliver’s cheek as they stood together in the dark outside the pub. “I came to congratulate you and let you know that I am done. No more fighting on the pitch. I’m hurt, and I’m retiring. Go back to your teammates and your party.”_

_“Come join me, Marc,” Oliver tried not to beg and drag him into the pub. “I canna function anymore. You haunt me.”_

_“No, Ollie,” Marcus cupped Oliver’s cheek in his palm. “We can’t do this. Too many rules have already been broken. I can't break any more.”_

_“Marc,” Oliver groaned as he nuzzled his cheek in Marcus’ calloused hand. “Rules change. Please.”_

_“No, Ollie,” Marcus ran his thumb over Oliver’s lower lip. “Dreams become nightmares if you chase them too long. I’m not doing that to you. We’ve been on the opposite sides of the pitch for too long. Goodbye, Ollie.”_

_Marcus whispered those words against Oliver’s lips. With a nip at Oliver’s bottom lip, Marcus faded into the darkness of the alley beside the pub._

* * *

Oliver leaned against the kitchen counter as he took a sip of the tea he had just finished brewing. He shook his head as he saw his favorite Puddlemere jumper falling off the arm of the sofa in the sitting room. It looked like there was a Tornadoes jumper under it.

Oliver set his teacup on the counter and walked into the sitting room. He bent down and picked up the Tornadoes jumper from under his jumper. A hint of sandalwood, smoke, and grass drifted up from the fabric. Groaning, Oliver buried his nose in the jumper. “Is this a dream or a nightmare?”

* * *

_“Go home, Ollie.”_

_“Who's the stalker now?” Oliver slurred as he watched the lights reflect off the amber liquid in the tumbler he was holding. “It’s the only way I can sleep. Been like this since the night we won the Cup. Get drunk enough, and you don’t remember the dreams.”_

_“Training camp starts in two days, Oliver,” Marcus took the tumbler from his hand. “Time to get your head out of your arse. You have worked too hard for this. Don’t fuck it up because of something that can’t happen.”_

_“Why not, Marc?” Oliver let his head drop to the table. “You aren’t across the pitch, and you aren’t really here. You just haunt me and taunt me. What am I playing for if you aren’t on the pitch? I canna do this.”_

_“I’m here to take you home, Ollie.” Marcus lifted Oliver’s head off the table and looked into his cloudy green eyes. “Who am I supposed to plan for if you are not on the pitch? Where is the challenge if I can’t out-think you.”_

_“See, you canna really be here,” Oliver slurred. “You are na gonna to be on the pitch, and you swore you wouldna coach. Give me back my drink. Firewhisky makes it easier to forget.”_

_“Not tonight,” Marcus wrapped one of Oliver’s arms around his shoulder and lifted him out of the chair. “Time to return a favor or two.”_

* * *

_“Go to bed, Ollie.” Marcus struggled to prop Oliver up beside the door. “As soon as I get this door open, you need to go inside and go to bed. Sleep this off.”_

_“I canna sleep,” Oliver mumbled as he started to slide down the wall. “Works better if I pass out. No dreams that way.”_

_“ **Alohamora** ,” Marcus whispered under his breath as he touched the door to Oliver’s flat. “I am not hauling your arse to your bed, and you are too heavy to float. Get up, Oliver.”_

_“Canna feel my legs,” Oliver shrugged. “Just leave me here.”_

_“Stubborn man,” Marcus grumbled as he pulled Oliver up from the floor. “I’m just getting you into your flat. I’ll let you put yourself to bed.”_

_“You are always in my bed.” Oliver leaned into Marcus as they stumbled through the flat’s door. “Even if it is only when I dream.”_

_“Oliver…” Marcus’ protest was cut off by Oliver’s lips._

_“Dinna let me fall, Marc.” Oliver pleaded against Marcus’ lips. “It hurts too much when I fall.”_

_“Ollie, I am not the one to catch anyone,” Marcus tried to pull away as Oliver closed the flat’s door and started to fall. “I will hurt you more if you count on me.”_

_Oliver’s stumble pinned Marcus between his hard body and the sitting room wall. “I dinna care. Canna hurt more than it already does. I just need to feel you.”_

_“Ollie, this will burn us both.” Marcus nipped Oliver’s lower lip as he felt Oliver’s hands tug at the hem of his jumper. “Rule number one...”_

_“Can blood rot,” Oliver growled as he scattered small nips along Marcus’ jaw after he pulled off his jumper. “I dinna care for rules tonight. I just need to feel you. I canna sleep, think, breathe, anything for the way your rules haunt me.”_

_“Rules keep you safe, Ollie.” Marcus gasped as he felt the cold wall against his back. “You don’t think I’ve burned enough for both of us. My damage can’t reach you if I don’t touch you.”_

_“I dinna care. War damages everyone.” Oliver bit the tip of Marcus’ collarbone. “Dinna care what side they made you choose. You are not your past or your parents’ choices. You are **MINE**.”_

_“Ollie,” Marcus let his head hit the wall as he felt Oliver’s hips and hard cock pin him to the wall. “I can’t …_

_“I dinna care,” Oliver reached over his head to pull off his own jumper. “I care about this here. Burn me to the ground.”_

_Marcus’ final protest was smothered by Oliver’s rough hands and harsh kisses. Oliver’s growl sent shivers down his spine as he gave into the fire “You are **MINE**. I canna give you up now that I have had a taste. Burn with me...”_

* * *

“Where the bloody hell are my pants.” Marcus’ rough voice cut through the memory Oliver was trying to catch.

“In the kitchen,” Oliver sunk into the couch as he answered. “There is tea for you on the counter. Did I do something stupid last night?”

“Other than getting so blitzed you couldn’t walk,” Marcus ran his hands through his hair as he walked into the sitting room. “Yes, You broke all the rules.”

“I dinna remember,” Oliver looked towards the door into the kitchen. “I catch flashes, and then they get jumbled with other memories. I dinna know if they are dreams, nightmares or reality.”

“I told you to stop chasing those dreams, Ollie,” Marcus walked to the sofa and stood between Oliver's knees. “Kissing you is a dangerous thing. Do you need some help remembering?”


End file.
